


Thirst

by foxymoley, NadiaHart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Biology, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Orgasms, Angel Wings, Art, Barebacking, Bars and Pubs, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bossy Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bruises, Caring Castiel, Castiel & Benny Lafitte Friendship, Castiel & Meg Masters Friendship, Castiel Has Patience, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Consensual Sex, Dean is a Little Shit, DeanCasFlipfest2018, Fan Art, Flirty Dean Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural) is a Little Shit, Grumpy Castiel, M/M, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Meg Master is a trouble maker, Mutual Attraction, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Rough Sex, Sassy Dean Winchester, Scents & Smells, Snarky Dean Winchester, Strangers to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Vampire Castiel, Vampire Sex, Wing Kink, artist FoxyMoley, but its not graphic, hot vampire fan art inside, implied past Castiel/Alfie, implied past Castiel/Meg - Freeform, now with art, until he doesn't anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymoley/pseuds/foxymoley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/pseuds/NadiaHart
Summary: There's a bar hidden between the blurry lines of time and space and perception, and to those in the know, it's called Limbo. It's one of those places... a sliver cut between worlds, where dimensions and realities overlap. Where supernatural beings of all walks of life–or, in Castiel’s case, death–come to let their glamour fade and exist in their skin without prejudice. Whether that skin has horns, or claws, or fangs, in Limbo no one bothers to look twice.He's been here for years, a staple behind the bar, mixing drinks, crafting a steady, even, uneventful life for himself. Everything on a schedule, everything predictable. It's how he keeps himself sane. It's how he keeps others safe. But that was over three weeks ago. Three weeks since everything went to hell and his carefully constructed life fractured down the middle. Three weeks, and now the only constant in his life is theThirst.





	1. Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading! This is my entry for the 2018 DeanCas FlipFest. Where the tropes and roles are flipped and the species just don't matter! 
> 
> I'd like to thank the [ProfoundBond Discord](https://discord.gg/GGbw2NP) server for hosting this fest (come join us). 
> 
> Very special thanks to [ HarplessCastiel](http://harplesscastiel.tumblr.com/) and BikeRoss for Alpha and Beta-ing this fic respectively. It would be a clustered mess without them.
> 
> Due to unfortunate circumstances, my artist [Lee](https://imtoobiforyou.tumblr.com/) was unable to create art for this fic but hopes to do it sometime in the future. 
> 
> However, I was super duper lucky enough to get a wonderful Pinch-Hitter who swooped in at the last minute and made me the most glorious art. I am forever thankful! Please give the wonderful [FoxyMoley](https://foxymoley.tumblr.com) a follow!
> 
> The page divider is a royalty free vectors from [Tanais](https://www.vectorstock.com/royalty-free-vectors/vectors-by_tanais) with some minor edits by me. And some glorious art from Foxy.

Three weeks, two days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes.

.

.

.

The clock on his nightstand blinks, the numbers ever climbing. Three weeks, two days, sixteen hours, and _twenty-four minutes_ since Cas last fed. His stomach twists, a hollow ache expanding in his gut. There is no rest for the wicked. Even as his resolve wears thin and his energy plummets, he pushes on. The next shipment should arrive soon. It has to.

 

Three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty-seven minutes since Cas last fed.

   “New guy starts today,” Benny calls over the low thrum of the club’s music, dragging Cas from his spiraling, red-tinted thoughts. The steady, rhythmic beat from tonight's DJ is some kind of goth-electro shit that Cas will never understand, no matter how many centuries he lives.

   He sniffs, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness, and lifts a crate of clean pint glasses, setting them out under the bar for the next rush. Limbo is one of those places, a space between worlds, where time and dimensions and realities overlap. Where supernatural beings of all walks of life or, in Castiel’s case, death come to let their glamour fade and, for a while, exist in their skin without prejudice. Whether that skin has horns, or claws, or fangs, in Limbo no one bothers to look twice.

Which is unfortunate for Castiel and his hypersensitive sense of smell, because where there are supernatural creatures, there are supernatural scents. On a good day, it’s an annoyance, something to tolerate as part of his job, but tonight it makes his head hurt. Pressure builds inside his sinuses and expands into a headache that throbs behind his eyes.

“Yah hear me, Cas?” Benny’s voice booms.

“Of course I hear you,” Cas grumbles under his breath, as if Benny doesn’t share his enhanced hearing. As if Benny doesn't know perfectly well that Cas can pick out the twin heartbeats of the strzyga across the club, let alone a shouted conversation a few feet away. Tossing aside the empty crate, Cas starts on the back bars inventory.

“Yeah? I guess it _is_ weird when a boss expects his employee to answer his questions.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas looks up from his task. “You didn’t ask a question, Benny, you made a statement. I don’t understand why I need to care if another new being has been conned into working for this establishment.” Cas forces a harsh breath out of his nose, flighting a sneeze.

A skinwalker smoking a long blue and green cigarette strolls past. The fragrant purple smoke coils like a serpent in the already thickly scented air. If looks could kill, the one Cas gives the offending creature would render it dead. “We should ban smoking in the club,” he mutters.

“Listen, brother,” Benny says, clapping him on the shoulder and drawing Cas’ death glare away from the skinwalker. “I need you to care because you’re the one who’s going to be training him.”

“What? Benny, no!” Cas releases the bottle he’s holding and turns to face his boss. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I trained the last two hires. Make Meg or Garth do it.”

“Sorry man, you’re the most senior employee I’ve got, and because of that you’ve got perks.” Benny’s smile grows as Cas’ scowl deepens. “One of those perks is training the new guys.”

“Shouldn’t one of my perks be telling everyone else what they have to do?” Cas counters and Benny chuckles, shrugging one thick shoulder.

“Look, Cas,” he says slowly, leaning in like he has some dark secret to share. “I know you’re in a bit of a bind, with what’s been going on and all, but I need you.”

Benny is a good guy… at least for a vampire. He has honest eyes and he’s one of the closest things Cas has to a friend. And since Benny’s a vampire himself, he has the decency not to talk about the hiccup in Cas’ feeding schedule. No reason to agitate a festering wound.

“And, ‘cause you take your orders from me, and I take my orders from Gabe,” Benny continues, lifting a shoulder in an ‘I wish I could help you but my hands are tied’ kind of way. “Gabe wants you on the new guy. So that’s where you’re gonna be.” With a final pat on Cas’ shoulder, Benny abandons him.

“But, why me?!” Cas calls. When there is no reply, he stomps back to his abandoned inventory sheet. Every time he drops one of the bottles back into its spot, each subtle clink of glass on glass helps soothe his irritation. Eventually, his agitation fades, and he’s just growling a stream of half-hearted complaints under his breath.

“What was that, Clarence?” Meg’s husky voice drifts over the bar as she sets her tray down. As if his night couldn’t get any worse, now there’s Meg. Her smile spreads, and just as Cas is about to tell her to go straight back to whatever pit of hell she crawled out of, she says, “Almost six hundred and twenty years old and still... what was that last part?” She laughs, leaning farther over the counter, the pale rise of her full breasts dangerously close to spilling over the edge of her low cut top.

The crisp green edge of a bill pokes out from the left side of her shirt. As Cas watches, Meg’s long elegant fingers press into the soft flesh of her chest and slip in alongside her breast to retrieve the bill. Slowly she draws it out over the curve and up her collarbone to flutter next to the bend in her neck, pushing the slightly acrid scent of her vessel’s blood towards him.

Shifting on his feet, Cas feels the tell-tale tingle in his gums as his canine teeth lengthen. He doesn't commonly have a taste for demon blood, not since the last time he caved to his desire. Even animal blood is better than the taste demon blood leaves in his mouth. His eyes flick up from the soft curve of Meg’s throat and the throb of her pulse. A vicious smile curves her full lips, and Cas knows he let her taunt him too far. Hunger pricks like a needle at the back his brain.

“Been a while huh, tiger?” She mocks, leaning closer so Cas can hear the low whoosh of blood pumping through her veins.

Her bright hazel eyes lock on his, and Cas can tell by the blurring at the edges of his vision that his normally ice blue gaze is steadily turning a violent purple. Meg loves to push him, taunt him, tease him with the meal hidden under her skin. Only once had Meg pushed him so far, he snapped and let the feeding frenzy consume him. She had bites and bruises from the encounter for weeks. Not that she complained, boasted about their wild night if anything. Cas ended up regretting his decision even before the rumors started. He is a private person, not just because he’s a vampire, he’s just used to a more solitary life.

Cas pulls his lips back, baring his fangs in warning.

Meg purrs, her eyes flashing black.

“Don’t tease me, Clarence,” She flirts, before leaning away. She tosses her order pad onto the mahogany bar. “I need two Holy Waters, a Dead Man’s Blood, an Angels Tears, and a vodka tonic.”

Moving on autopilot, Cas makes the drinks as she rattles them off. “Does Gabe always put you on when I need to feed, or am I just that unfortunate?” He asks.  

“Just lucky, I guess.” She shrugs, adding the twenty to her wad of cash before slipping the whole bundle back into her apron pocket. “When’s your next feeding scheduled?”

“It’s supposed to be tomorrow,” Cas responds automatically, setting the drinks on her tray. “Who the fuck orders a vodka tonic?”

Her shoulder lifts as she shrugs, sliding an elegant red-tipped nail around the rim of the glass in question. “You know, you could solve all your problems if you just fed like a normal vamp,” she says, popping the p, careful not to meet his eyes as she lifts her tray.

Cas stiffens. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.” She clicks her tongue. “There are blood bars all over the city, where, for the right price, you can drink directly from the source.” She picks up her notepad and slips it into her apron. “You know those humans are paid really well for letting you parasites feed off them.”

“Meg…” Cas growls again “You are well aware that I am not permitted…”

“I know Clarence.” She winks. “You know, I’m always here if you change your mind.” Adjusting her serving tray, she saunters back into the depths of the club.

Cas watches her go and for a brief moment, he second guesses his decision to turn down her offer of a fresh feeding. Running his tongue over his teeth he finds his gums ache. The glands under his tongue are swollen, sore with need, and still, the scent headache pounds like a drum behind his eyes.

Cas shakes his head. Demon vessel blood always leaves the taste of sulfur in his mouth. Then again, there’s really nothing like a warm body writhing under him as he feeds. He misses hunting. It brings Cas back to his youth when he’d first turned; stalking and seducing his prey.

He blinks, shocked at where his mind had gone. He should not be reminiscing fondly about those days.

Cas tosses the shaker into the well sink, snarling.

“Amateurs, am I right?” The voice draws Cas from his dark thoughts. “The Fairy’s Folly would have been a way better choice than a vodka tonic.”

Cas looks up, scowling at the smiling young man who has taken Meg's place across the bar. He’s handsome, startlingly so. He seems to glow with a health and vitality rarely seen among the patrons of Limbo.

Roughly shaken from his thoughts as he is by the man’s sudden and startling appearance, Cas can’t help but stare. For the first time all night the air smells clean. Like before the plagues, like before he died and was turned. He smells fresh like the flower fields and rolling hills of a home lost to Castiel so many years ago. Memories surge like a tidal wave from the depths of Cas’ mind where they’d been locked away.

Taking stock of the man, eyes flicking over his broad straight-toothed smile, sharp jaw, and full pouty lips, green eyes that shimmer like the first dewy buds of spring. This man, who at least in Castiel’s opinion is far too beautiful to be real––in fact, likely an Incubi––rubs him the wrong way. Cas can’t shake the instant dislike that curls in his gut. This man is Castiel’s exact opposite; it oozes tantalizingly from his sun-kissed and freckled skin. Cas’ lip lifts slightly, flashing one pointed canine tooth but much to his distaste, the man’s green eyes darken as they drop to Cas’ mouth, and he licks his lips.

“D’Ansphiel.” Benny’s voice snaps them out of the staring contest they were having. Cas is quick to jump back into action, orders are coming in, and he doesn’t have the energy to be distracted by Mr. Spring Rain here.

“You must be Benny?” Spring Rain asks, his voice as deep as the ocean. Cas’ gums tingle, his ears burn and he tries to ignore the effect that voice has on him. He needs to feed, and this D’Ansphiel with his bright, clean scent and sun-kissed skin is not helping. "Please, call me Dean.”

“Dean. We're sure glad you could make it on such short notice.” Benny says, and Cas turns away from the pair. He doesn't want to train some brat, and he certainly doesn't have time to stand here and listen to Benny give this D’Ansphiel–‘Call me Dean’–the tour. The pair wanders off into the club, D’Ansphiel taking the clean, fresh air with him as he leaves.


	2. Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a dame like you doing in a dive like this, no seriously get out of here I'm busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary is a joke XD

He’s in the middle of a rush when the scent of ocean and coconut surround him. Confused, Cas sniffs the small blue bottle in his hand. It is unquestionably moon drop oil, which doesn’t smell anything like coconut. As he adds a splash of moon drop oil and a garnish of lime rind to the drink he’s making, only to look up as the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and find D’Ansphiel and Gabriel smiling at him. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m busy,” Cas says evenly, frown in place. He sets the drinks down on Kate’s tray, and she quickly scurries away, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

“Why do I put up with you?” Gabe asks, a small smile spreading across his lips. “You’re absolutely the worst. Aren’t public servants supposed to be sweet and friendly?”

“No,” Castiel responds flatly. He arches a brow as he stares at his boss.

“Shouldn’t you at least act like you're afraid of me firing you?” Gabe whines while leaning over the bar and snatching a maraschino cherry. He pops the fruit into his mouth and wiggles his eyebrows at Cas.

“No.” Cas sighs, starting on the next drink. There is always another drink, another order waiting, the bar is busy, day, night, apocalypse, natural disaster. It doesn’t matter. There is always some being, some creature, some monster, god, or deity needing sanctuary, safe passage, or more often than not a drink made by the one and only Castiel Novak. “You honestly can’t afford to lose me.”

“Well, you could at least pretend!” Gabe snips, reaching for another cherry. Quick reflexes and years of working for the Archangel has Cas’ hand snapping out and slapping Gabe's offending fingers away from his garnishes. “Ouch, touchy, touchy.”

“Is there something you need? Or are you just here to flaunt your new toy around?” Cas sniffs. The air smells deliciously offensive and his eyes narrow on D’Ansphiel “Honestly Gabriel, aren’t you a little old to be playing with an Incubus?” 

Gabe gasps in mock hurt and D’Ansphiel chuckles.

“Cassie, how dare you! Dean-o here is my cousin, or brother, or my sister's ex-roommates kid thrice removed or something. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; he’s an angel, you shit!” Cas’ hands freeze over the slightly smoking drink he’s making. 

_ What, an angel? _ His thoughts buzz. D’Ansphiel being an angel and not an Incubi doesn’t explain Castiel’s reaction to his scent, his smile, his...  _ everything _ . At least if he is an Incubus then Castiel could chalk his bodies response up to pheromones or glamour, but the man’s an  _ angel _ ? 

“Yes, an angel. Now, be nice, or he’ll smite you.” Gabe says, before turning to D’Ansphiel, “No, but really, don’t smite him. Business would tank without him behind the bar. I swear the way the patrons request his drinks you’d think he was drugging them.” 

Cas meets D’Ansphiel’s eye, the mirth shimmering in those green depths only serves to make him angrier. The last thing Cas needs right now is a trainee, let alone a distractingly attractive one. Heat swoops low in his stomach as D’Ansphiel’s eyes drop to take in every inch of Cas’s face followed by a low perusal of his body. The man slowly licks his lips, nostrils flaring, and not seeming to dislike what he sees.

“So,” Gabe says, clapping his hands together, his caramel colored eyes mischievous, “You’re going to put aside the fact that my widdle bro here is making you all hot under the collar and you’re going to train him. I need him able to keep up with Meg by tomorrow.”

“No.” Cas states simply, a martini glass spins against his palm before he set it on the counter. “You want him to keep up with Meg? Make Meg train him.” 

Gabe’s expression flashes dark, and with an unnatural speed he reaches across the bar and grabs the front of Castiel’s jersey tank top. His anger is momentary but breathtaking. The air around his slim shoulders distorts, shimmers and the visage of large wings flicker to life, casting deep shadows over Castiel before Gabe releases him. The little Archangel clears his throat, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on the button down he’s wearing.

“Listen sweet cheeks: normally I’m all about your surly, sassy, difficult demeanor. Really, I am. I mean a brooding grumpy vampire, its just so cliche. I love it.” Gabe lifts the drink Cas has just finished making and blows the lingering smoke from its shimmering depths. “You’re like an angry kitten. It’s great.” Cas huffs, crossing his arms with a scowl, and Gabe gives a small hum, rocking on the balls of his feet like Cas has just proven his point. “But, in all seriousness, I’ve got a super important meeting between the local Demon and Angel faction leaders tomorrow night.”

“And?” Cas prompts, tone dry.

“And….” Gabe repeats his posture stiffening. Castiel knows the Archangel is nearing the end of his patience for Cas’ attitude. “As you’re well aware. I need to have equal representation from both sides working whenever these things come up. I mean, it would be cute if it weren’t so tacky, Demons only ordering around an Angel server. Angels in turn only wanting to boss around a Demon server.”

Gabe pauses bringing the glass towards his lips before a thought occurs to him and he goes on, “So obviously since Balthy left, I’m down one attractive angelic errand boy for these sorts of soirees.” He finally takes a sip of the drink, smacking his lips appreciatively. “Yeah, you’re the best Cassie. Anywho, Dean-o, Castiel. Cassie, Dean-o. Be nice.” He points to Dean then, “Don’t bite… too much…” to Castiel.

Cas opens his mouth to argue, but Gabe and the drink are gone. Dean, on the other hand, leans in, a dark smirk playing across his full lips. “Thought I was an Incubus, huh?” he asks in his rumbling tenor, licking his full lips. The slow way Dean’s bright eyes slide over Cas’s body sends a slither of heat dripping down his spine.

It’s going to be a long night.


	3. Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You drive me to distraction.

By the time the third glass hits the ground and shatters, Cas has had enough. Whether it’s his antics, beauty, or abundant charm Castiel doesn't know, but Dean has quickly attracted a crowd around the bar, all vying for the young angel's attention. 

It pricks at Cas, bothering him to no end. This is Limbo, for god's sake. It isn’t some spring break beach shack down in the south of Florida where bar flair and tossing glasses around for the amusement of the patrons is acceptable behavior. 

Cas will admit, however begrudgingly, that Dean’s one saving grace is that he’s a fast learner. Even that though, is overshadowed by the fact that he is also a show-off. Fortunately, Cas only has to show him how to do something once before the boy has it. That too is intensely grating; Dean has no right being attractive, funny,  _ and _ smart. 

Fatigue pulls at his shoulders, and the empty ache in his stomach makes him feel sluggish. Just one more day and he’ll be back to himself. 

Again Cas finds himself staring as Dean makes some flippant comment about his fingers as he ducks down to pick up the shards of glass. Rolling his eyes–for what feels like the twelfth time in the last twenty minutes–Cas makes the drink Dean should have been making while he was showing off, and brings it to the patron. A well-placed scowl and a flick of his wrist has the crowd dispersing.

“You are wasting time!” Cas growls. He bends down to help pick up the glass shards, shoulders hunching. "And resources. This is your third broken glass. If you weren’t so busy messing around...” 

“Chill out Grandpa.” Dean snarks, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.

“Grandpa?”

“Yeah, aren’t you like six hundred something years old,” Dean scoffs, dropping his gaze to the mess of glass and ice scattered between their crouched forms.

“You’re an angel!” Cas sputters.

“Yeah, but I’ve only been on earth a few decades,” Dean says with a slow shrug. He shifts on the balls of his feet and proceeds to drop the shards he’s collected in the bin.

“Well, then you should show me some respect.” Cas counters, his voice low and angry. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean mocks, and Cas’s anger flares.  _ This cocky little brat! _ He’s reaching out, fully intent on grabbing Dean by his short-cropped, annoyingly perfect, hair when the man hisses drawing upright, his eyes downcast at his finger.

The smell hits him like a freight train. In the millisecond it takes Dean to heal the small cut Cas plummets into a pool of scent and desire. Blood––the metallic tang of copper is swept up in a fresh bouquet of coconut, watermelon and under it all the salt and rage of the ocean. He can hear the waves crashing against the shore like the blood pounding in his ears. 

“Dude!” Dean’s shout snaps Cas back to himself. 

He’s lunged across the small space, his palm pressing against the ground next to Dean’s hip, his chest hovering inches from Dean’s, who’s slipped back onto his butt as Cas invades his space. Cas’ free hand grips Dean’s wrist, the now healed digit inches from his mouth. To make matters worse he’s purring, an ever so low rumble from the core of his chest. A sound he hasn’t made in decades.

Cas jerks back, dropping Dean’s wrist like he’s been burned. Licking his lips, Cas feels caught, trapped, looking around for anything that isn’t Dean’s cunning gaze. He rubs his palms against his thighs and shoots up to his feet taking a step away from the other man. “Stop fucking around.” He snaps, attempting to cover his blunder, but of course, there is no chance of that happening.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Dean practically sings, climbing easily back to his feet, a smile stretching his full lips. “What the hell was that?” he presses, a look of mischievous wonder overtaking his features. 

“Nothing.” Cas manages, turning his back on the younger man. 

What the fuck was wrong with him? A blood scent hasn’t gotten under his skin like that in recent memory–not since  _ Alfie _ . Cas suppresses a shiver at the thought of the lithe, beautiful boy. He forcefully presses the heel of his hands against his eyes until stars burst in the blackness.

“No way, man.” Dean’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, whipping him around so they face one another again. The touch sends heat exploding along Cas’s skin, every hair strand raising in response to the angel's touch. He drops his hands from the assault on his eyes, blinking until his vision clears.

“D’Ansphiel….” Cas says, the warning clear by his tone.

“No! Fuck you, what’s up with your eyes?” he presses almost angrily. Then with a bink, he adds, “Also you’re really fucking fast. I didn’t know you could move like that...”

“You should see him when he isn’t starving.” Meg hums softly. Castiel almost jumps at her voice. He is thoroughly losing his touch if Meg is able to sneak up on him.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, squinting his eyes and pursing his full lips.  _ Damn _ , if the boy doesn’t know how to accentuate his good looks.

Flipping a few pages in her order pad she tosses it onto the counter. Castiel watches her with wary eyes because Meg doesn’t have the tact that Benny does. Meg doesn’t give a fuck about Cas’ cultural propriety, or for that matter, anyone's customs or even what they think about her and her lack of concern. She’s always looking for her next bout of trouble. Cas can already see where this conversation is going. 

“Meg…” Castiel growls, pressing his palms firmly against the bar to keep himself from reaching out and strangling her.

Meg scrunches her nose up at him before turning her attention back to Dean, who’s annoyingly hovering at Cas’ right shoulder.

“Our little Clarence here is so far out from his last feeding I bet he can smell every bead of sweat coming from your pores. Among…  _ other _ things. Can’t you, sweetie?” Meg clicks her tongue as she drops her tray on the counter next to her order pad. Cas hisses at her lifting his lip to expose his fangs. She gives a mock shiver, never taking his warnings seriously and turns her attention back to Dean. 

Cas needs to get busy, needs a distraction, he takes a step away from the angel, who, unfortunately, is giving his full attention to the hellion on the other side of the counter. Meg is going to spill his secrets no matter what Cas does. He just hopes that if he makes her drinks fast enough, she will go away before divulging everything.

“When a vamp is as far out from their last feeding as our Clarence here is, even the smallest,” her eyes flick over Dean with some disdain, “ _ prick _ ... can set them off.” She turns her gaze to Cas. He looks into the black voids of her eyes and sees his gaunt exhausted face reflected back at him. She blinks, eyes flashing a very human hazel, before turning to Dean. 

If Dean is offended by her insults, he doesn't show it. He leans towards her and smiles, “Oh yeah? Aren’t there like a dozen blood bars in the downtown area alone?” he asks, and Meg cackles, tossing her head back in an exaggerated motion to go along with the fake laugh. 

“Oh feathers, you don’t know about our Cassie?” she purrs like she’s talking to a small child. 

“Meg, that is enough.” Castiel reprimands, slamming a glass down onto her tray so hard the liquid sloshes over the edge and soaks his hand.

“He’s got some of the most potent venom this little podunk town has seen in the last century.” Meg goes on, completely ignoring Cas and the mess he’s made. “He tried going to the blood bars when they started up, didn’t you, sweetie,” she tsks at him. “Thought that their strict rules and regulations would help him if he got out of control. That they could stop him if he fed too long.”

“Meg, please,” Cas whispers, hands shaking as he retrieves a bottle of cactus dew. She barrels right over his plea. Images of Alfie assault him. Soft lips parted, gasping, moaning, whimpering. He’s begging for more and more, over and over again. And Cas let him, too newly turned to see the signs, too weak to resist the feeling of Alfie’s nubile body under him.

The memory is so loud in his ears he doesn't even hear Dean asks,  “Podunk? You know this is New York, right?”

“Three donors addicted; two went insane, one a suicide.” Meg sighs, boredom in her tone, flipping her hair over her shoulder, recounting Castiel's sins like the evening weather report. “All because our little Cassie refuses to go back to them. To feed the addiction his bite creates. He won’t give them the euphoria they’ve come to know at his mouth. Will you?”

“Lenore wasn’t a suicide!” Castiel snaps, the bottle of dew shattering in his grip.

“No, but they had to turn her, so she’s dead now,” Meg states bluntly, coldly.

A low whistle from Dean reminds Cas that he’s standing there. He’d been so wrapped up in Meg’s tyrade, so lost in his own thoughts that even Dean’s soothing scent had vanished from his awareness.

“But that's not all, is it, Castiel?” Meg spits. She always disliked him for keeping the real reason he stopped feeding on humans from her, from anyone. She poked and prodded, tried every avenue available to her in pursuit of the secrets she’d always craved. 

They’d been close once, so close he’d almost told her about Alfie, about the darkest stain on his hands, but he just couldn’t. Meg isn’t the type to understand. She’d mock him for it, with her soul blackened and twisted by hellfire. Cas just isn’t strong enough to have that wound ripped open by her cruel claws. It’s what destroyed their friendship. Left them as they are now, mutual bullies with apathetic disdain for each other. It works for them. It’s better this way. Castiel doesn’t need friends. 

They glare at one another until Dean’s voice breaks through. “Just a little bit of unresolved sexual tension between you guys, huh?” 

“No,” Castiel growls, retrieving another bottle of cactus dew and slamming it down on the counter. “Are you quite finished, hellspawn?”

Meg rolls her eyes. “I love the sweet little names you call me. Parasite.”

“Fiend.”

“Leech.”

“Shaitan”

“Oooh, thank you, Castiel!” Meg bats her lashes at him and turns her gaze back on Dean. “Anyway, it's all bagged blood or animal blood now. Though that animal crap doesn’t sustain you as long, does it, sweetie?” 

“You know it doesn’t,” Cas grumbles. “I am not sure why you feel it necessary to dig your claws into my history and pry it into the light.”

Meg shrugs. “I dunno, maybe I just want to feel less alone.” Her voice wavers, slim fingers lifting to cover her mouth as she draws a soft breath. Castiel knows better than to fall for her act, and sure enough, her eyes flick black, and she tosses her head back and laughs. “Or maybe it’s because I’m a demon? From Hell? Plus you make the most beautiful faces when you’re angry, Clarence. It’s a curse, isn’t it, being that handsome? What can you expect from me? I’m nothing if I’m not giving into my desires.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“All part of my charm.” She turns back towards Dean, eyes calculating. “So, pretty boy, what color did you see?”

“Huh?” Dean asks his brows arching.

“His eyes, bird brain. What color did you see? It obviously wasn’t blue. So what was it, purple or red?”

“Purple.” Dean breathes, and Cas does not like the way the word leaves the other man’s lips.

“Well then, kid, you’re going to have to try a little harder, aren’t you.” She lifts her tray and blows Cas a kiss. “Get those baby blues to run red, and you’re in for the best sex of your life.”

“Oh, fuck off, Meg!” Cas snaps, slamming his hand down on the counter so hard a small fairy tumbles head first into her drink.


	4. Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you hear me, are you listening? It's more than the words I'm speaking.

Three weeks, five days, seven hours, and thirty-two minutes since Cas last fed. And precisely forty-five minutes since Meg put the idea in Dean’s head that what Cas actually needs is a fresh hot meal.

“You should bite me,” Dean says, licking his lips. His body is so far into Cas’ personal space that he can feel the steady thrum of Dean’s heart. Cas sags under his utter fatigue, turning a narrowed eye on Dean.

“Please,” he manages witheringly, “Don’t be an idiot.”

“No seriously, this could be good for both of us.” Dean waggles his brows.

Cas frowns in return.“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” Cas sighs, his hands busy under the bar. It is a relief to have a diversion from Dean’s handsome face. The man’s scent and heat are distracting enough, the offer he is making… nearly impossible to ignore. “My delivery is scheduled to come in a few hours anyway.” He throws in as an afterthought.

“Castiel!” Benny’s voice calls from the back room. “Call on line two for you.”

“Yeah, got it!” Cas gives a tight smile to Dean before turning his back on him.

“Mr. Novak?” The woman on the other end of the line is calm, cool, her tone clinical. It’s a voice he is extremely familiar with. Of course, he thinks, his stomach dropping at the familiarity of the phone call. He can’t help glancing over his shoulder to the angel mixing drinks a few feet away. _Of course._

“Speaking,” he rumbles into the receiver, his stomach dropping, dread creeping up his spine.

“Mr. Novak, this is Andrea Koromos from RedDrop. I do apologize for the inconvenience we have caused you with the delay in your deliveries.”

“That’s quite alright, Andrea. I’m just relieved to be receiving a delivery tonight.”

“Yes. Well, about that.”

The phones metal creaks in protest as Cas’ hand tightens around the receiver.

_No._

“There is a severe shortage right now.”

_No._

“I’m calling to supply you with a list of the blood bars in your area…. “

_No!_

“We would, of course, provide you with a credit….”

_This can’t be happening_

“...at a bar of your choosing.”

Her voice fades in and out under the thoughts screaming in his head. Rage erupts like hot magma under his skin.

“How long?” He grits out. The edges of his vision growing fuzzy in his fury. Cas blinks hard to regain the crispness.

“I’m sorry?” Andrea’s soft voice comes over the line. “I––don’t understand…?”

“ _HOW LONG,”_ Cas says loudly, enunciating each word clearly “––until you can make a delivery?”

“Oh, um. It could be another three days, maybe a week.”

There’s a ringing in his ears, a whooshing sound that won’t clear no matter how hard he shakes his head. There is no way he’ll make it another week. There is no way he’ll make it another two days!

“Mr. Novak? Mr. Novak? Do you want to go over the list of local blood bars?”

“Pig blood… pigs blood, can you send me…?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Novak. We don’t deal with that sort of thing.”

“Right, of course you don’t,” he snarls. “You are barely capable of dealing in human blood. Why complicate your incompetence further?”

“Mr. Novak––!”

Castiel slams the receiver back into its cradle. Prying his hand off the black metal, he stands breaths heaving. The air is thick, heavy in his lungs. He needs to do something, anything, to quell this blood craving. The knowledge that there is no relief in sight from the gnawing hunger that claws up his throat and stabs into his brain drowns him.

The constant loop of _feed, feed, feed_ , that pulses in the back of his mind like the beating of a heart makes him dizzy.

“Woah.” Dean’s voice drifts to his ears, instantly calming the rushing noise. Cas draws a deep, slow breath, Dean’s sun-warmed scent suffuses his senses, gentling his blood rush. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean trace the imprint his hand left in the now misshapen receiver. “Guess that call didn’t go well.”

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t deal with this right now.

“Tell Benny I’m going on break.”

“Cas…?”

He doesn't look back, he can’t. The soft plea in Dean’s voice slips right under his skin and calls out to him. Begging him to give in, to turn around, to run his hands up into those silken locks, to bend Dean’s long neck to the side, and to feed on the pure ambrosia Cas is positive runs through his veins.

He doesn’t stop walking until the break room door clicks closed behind him. Throwing himself onto one of the posh wing back chairs left over from the clubs redesign Castiel lets out a long sigh.

“What am I going to do…”

He’s lost in thought for a long while, sleep tugging at his eyes. He knows his sanity is fading under the drive to feed, time blurs along its edges as Cas slumps back into the seat.

Closing his eyes, the vision of Dean’s bare, toned arms, glistening with sweat, surges into his mind. The long dark lines inked onto Dean’s skin depict full but delicate wings that wrap over his shoulders and down his arms to the tips of his middle fingers. They seem to come alive under the pulsing lights of the club.

Cas’s skin still tingles from all the times Dean has ‘ _accidentally’_ brushed up against him. Every time Cas turns around Dean is there, in his space, making the thick smokey club air smell like summertime. Cas fully faults Dean and his melodic heartbeat for his rapid descent into this hysteria. The glands under his tongue swell with want. He doesn’t notice he’s growling until Benny’s head pops in through the break room door.

“Cas...”

“Cas?”

“Castiel!”

His head snaps up to find Benny frowning at him. “Dean told me some shit happened with RedDrop.”

“I don’t understand how my business is of everyone's concern, but yes. RedDrop pushed my shipment back. _Again_. Something about a shortage.”

He’s having trouble stringing his thoughts together. Why would Dean even be concerned about his well being? It’s not like he’s been overly friendly to the other man. Vaguely he registers Benny’s “ _Uhuh_.”

“Said it could be another week till they can get some supplies out to me––offered a credit at a local blood bar of my choosing. You know I can’t go to those, Benny, I just can’t.”

“I know, brother.” Benny rests a heavy hand on Cas’s slumped shoulder, almost buckling him under its weight. “Here. I know it won’t do much, with you as far gone as you are, but it’s all we got in stock right now.”

Benny hands over a thick plastic pouch. Cas doesn’t like taking handouts, but he needs this to make it through the night. “I’ll call into my distributor over at Hemo-Hemo to see if I can get an emergency delivery.”

Cas reaches out sluggishly to take the pouch. It’s cold, even to his fingers, and filled with some variety of blood. As Benny talks, Cas brings the corner of the pouch to his mouth and rips into it. Immediately his body responds, pupils constricting then expanding, the world going fuzzy then intensely precise. All his senses hone down to needle-sharp focus. He squeezes the pouch filling his mouth with the bitter tang of blood. But it’s not right; his stomach roils, rebelling, and he almost vomits the precious liquid back onto the floor.

“Yep,” Benny sighs, hands on his hips. “That’s what I was afraid of. It’s goat's blood, lower quality too, just whatever we had left over from the last time that chupacabra was in. Keep down what you can, and I’ll let you know when I hear from my guys.”

He licks his lips, swallowing roughly, fighting his bodies reaction but already he feels better. A warm rush fulls his stomach and spreads out to his limbs, like a shot of fine whiskey. “Thanks, Benny.”

“Yeah, just take it easy.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Cas to fight with his body as he tries to down the rest of the rancid tasting blood. Rationally, he knows there is nothing wrong with it, that it doesn’t actually taste as bad as his mind is telling him it does, but after hours of ocean salt and coconut Cas doesn’t think anything would taste the same.

He’s back behind the bar before he realizes it. The trembling in his fingers is easing, and the sluggishness in his mind is receding to an almost pleasant numbness.

“You still don’t look good.”

“Jesus!” Cas flinches so hard he knocks over the glass he’s filling. “You should wear a bell or something.”

“If you’d just feed off me I wouldn’t be able to sneak up on you,” Dean says his voice low and soft as he invades Cas’s space.

Setting the bottle he’s holding down, Cas turns to face the angel. Dean’s eyes flick between his own, and as Cas speaks they drop, with dark hunger, to his lips.

“Why are you so interested in me feeding off you?” Cas asks pinning Dean in his gaze. “It’s honestly not as great as Meg lets on. For some, it can be _excruciatingly_ painful.” With each word, he steps farther into Dean’s space. “Once I start, Dean, I can’t stop. I won’t stop.” He lifts his hand and traces the sharp curve of Dean’s exposed collarbone. “And with the way you smell.” Cas leans in, licking his lips, eyelids fluttering as the warm scent of the angel washes over him. “I’d drain you dry.”

Dean gives a soft whine as Cas steps away. He’s quick to recover, through his green eyes narrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

“It’s not going to happen Dean. I don’t feed off humans or humanoids.”

With a shrug, Cas pulls his eyes from the angel, hoping the finality in his tone finally gets his message through. He’s retrieving a bottle of nightshade nectar when a sudden gust of coconut scented wind makes his hair flutter. Dean huffs, and Castiel can just imagine the other man beating his wings in a tantrum.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m offering, and you obviously need it! This could work out for both of us.”

Cas turns back. “No,” he says firmly. Dean is far too much of a temptation; he can’t risk it.

For some reason, it is profoundly satisfying to get Dean ruffled. He puffs up like an angry owl in his indignation. A dark blush dots his cheeks and makes his freckles stand out like constellations. Cas watches a small bead of sweat drip down from Dean’s temple and slides along the sharp angle of his jaw. The intense urge to trace the path with his tongue rushes up inside of him, and he licks his lips to quell it. Dean’s eyes narrow, and Cas has the sinking suspicion that some of his desire has translated into his expression.

“We’ll see about that.” Dean snaps, hands clenching at his side. He brushes past Castiel, their shoulders colliding in a way that is entirely avoidable.

Frowning, Cas watches him stalk off to the other side of the bar. The back of his white cotton tank top is drenched in sweat. Two almost translucent stripes travel from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. The fabric clings to him, highlighting the muscular valley of his lower back. Dean stops a few paces away, leaning over the bar and plucks at Meg's hair to get her attention.

When they lean close together, the sinking feeling in Cas’ gut grows. Dean twirls one of her dark curls around his long finger as he speaks. Meg’s smile widens as Dean whispers, her eyes darting to Cas then back again. She nods and turns her face away to whisper in the angel's ear.

Nothing good will come of those two working together.


	5. Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's good. It will be so good for us. Let me show you.

Cas’ hands shake under the counter, his smile is weak at best. The lovely veela across from him doesn't seem to notice as she prattles on in her all too feminine voice. It’s simpering. Grating. Not even her rose and ivy aroma can mask the bright, vibrant scent of Dean’s blood. It haunts Castiel everywhere he goes. He does his damnedest to focus on the fawning speech the veela is giving, clutching at the cold metal of the well sink beneath the bar, he angles towards her, trying to get her rose scent to drown out all the coconut.

This entire plan reeks of Meg. Dean has nicked, cut, or sliced open his skin several times since their hushed conversation. Every time he fails to get a reaction out of Cas he grows more frustrated and desperate. Cas can’t for the life of him figure out how or why he has become the focus of Dean’s desire. But it is apparent that he has, in the way Dean has placed an almost single-minded focus on gaining Castiel's attention.

Right now, for example, he’s letting a small puncture wound on his forearm bleed sluggishly down to his fingertips. The bright red contrasting with his tanned skin and the thin dark lines of his tattoo.

Castiel can’t help it; he tears his eyes from the veela and hungrily watches the slow path of the little red drop. He’s hyper-aware of the small group of patrons that are gathered to watch Dean’s antics, holding their breath for Cas’s eventual breakdown. He isn’t about to give them the satisfaction but he also needs to do something to stop Dean’s behavior. Cas storms towards him––the angel's eyes widen, a sly smile on his full lips––and picks up a rag. He flings it at Dean, smirking as it wraps around his head.

“You’re playing a dangerous game D’Ansphiel,” Kate whispers softly, as Dean pulls the rag from his face. “Meg couldn't walk right for two days after…”

“That’s enough.” Cas cuts her off, then says more gently, “Kate, I think table 7 needs you.”

He rounds on Dean, intent on putting an end to this whole charade but his words catch in his throat. The angel is crowding into his space; his eyes are blown wide, slivers of green surrounding endless pools of black. His smile is dangerous and a thick bead of sweat drips down from behind his ear, sliding along his neck. Cas licks his lips, which he realizes is a mistake. The desire to savor Dean’s flesh comes back full force. He can taste Dean in the air, a diluted impure hit of his unique flavor that alludes to the ambrosia pounding through his veins.

Cas’ vision blurs, darkening, his tongue flicks out again seeking another taste of that fading bouquet, mixed with the coppery tang of blood drying along Dean’s forearm.

Not even the cacophony of odors that regularly clog up Cas’ nose while he works can tamp down Dean’s divine scent. The glands under his tongue swell, his mouth floods with saliva and his gums burn with need. The small bag of goat’s blood he drank is no match for the hunger Dean awakens.

Cas shuffles back a step and Dean follows, the illusion of his wings arching over his shoulders fills Cas’ mind and makes Dean loom over him, large and imposing. The small movement kicks up his scent. The aroma chokes Cas, and his vision darkens.

Dean’s smile grows, his bright eyes flicking between Cas’s own.

“Cas…” Dean whispers in his deep rumble.

It slides down Cas’s spine like a warm caress. Dean is leaning in, his eyes heavily lidded, his breath hot against Cas’s parted lips. He is falling, drowning under the turbulent wave that is Dean. “Just… let me…”

 _“…_ _Let me... Castiel, just once more. Bite me; it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m strong, aren’t I? I'm your strong boy? You’re hungry; so hungry. I know you are. Let me help you. I love you.”_

Castiel gulps in a breath, his eyes snapping open as not Dean’s, but Alfie's voice whispers in the back of his mind. He’d been too weak to see the signs, to note how Alfie’s slim fingers had trembled, how cold he’d been, how the inky bruises under his eyes were too dark to be from lack of sleep. Cas had been too stupid to know he could kill, _would_ kill, with his bite. Never again. Never again would a beautiful, vibrant life fade so Cas could survive.

“No!” Cas chokes, staggering back. His fingers slip over an empty bottle of vodka on the bar, gripping it like a lifeline.

“No,” he repeats, clearing his throat. “Vodka.” He stammers, his voice stuck thickly in his throat. Swallowing, he takes another step back from Dean––the man’s face a mask of cold determination––and shouts “Benny cover me. I’m going to restock.”

“Alright, brother."  
  


Page break by FoxyMoley

* * *

 

Castiel’s escape to the stockroom doesn't last long. With hunched shoulders, he grips the wrought iron shelves, endeavoring to make his brain push the memory of what he did to Alfie from his mind, even as his body rages, craves, demands he turn around and drag Dean’s sinfully beautiful form under his own. It is like trying to contain a typhoon.

Cas hears the door open, and that godforsaken scent sweeps into the room. He casts his eyes skyward, silently begging for strength, before closing them as Dean’s shadow appears beside him.

Cas has had enough. He is at the end of his rope; his willpower has fizzled down to nothing. This is too much, even for him.

Dean presses his body, long and lean up against Cas’ back. Teeth grinding, Cas slowly opens his eyes and a muscular forearm arm fills his peripheral view along with the ever familiar scent of sweat and sunshine. Though the puncture wound has healed, a stain of dried blood still mars the freckled skin. Castiel blows out a harsh breath and shakes his head, but that doesn’t lessen the red of his blood rage bleeding onto the edges of his vision.

Words are obviously not enough to get through Dean’s thick skull that this isn’t going to happen. Castiel is going to have to take action. Maybe he should scare the other man a little, let his hunger and ferocity prove that Dean is in over his head.

“This what you’re looking for?” The angel asks, his voice cocky and sure. It makes the hairs on Cas’ arms stand on end.

Dean lifts the bottle of vodka, his bicep flexing when Cas strikes. His body moves with the deadly grace of a hunter on the prowl, snatching the wrist next to his cheek––pleased at how his fingers press into the smooth, warm flesh.

The scent of coconut and, for the first time, mint, clouds his senses so thoroughly he almost misses the small intake of breath from behind him. Cas brings the wrist around to his mouth, carefully freeing the bottle Dean holds and sets it back on the shelf. Parting his lips, Cas gently scrapes his teeth over the delicate tendons and veins housed beneath the thin heated membrane of Dean’s flesh.

Dean's skin is salty like the ocean, warm like a summer afternoon, and sweet. So sweet. Castiel's mouth floods with saliva his hunger growing with each passing second. The numbing antigen stings his cheeks as it floods his mouth, ready for him to take a bite out of Dean’s wrist. This is a bad idea, but Cas can’t find it in himself to care. Cas swallows roughly, and his toxins burn down his throat like a shot of bourbon, bringing him out of his stupor.

The need returns none the less, pounding behind his eyes like a migraine and slowly settling into a dull ache at the base of his skull. He shouldn’t have tested his limits, Cas realizes, blinking. He pulls Dean’s wrist away from his trembling lips, a strand of saliva, still connecting them when Dean whimpers. It’s a soft, broken noise that has Cas’s eyes flying wide and the predator in his chest claws to life inside of him. His vision flares and the world tilts into hues of red and grey

Spinning around, Cas twists Dean’s arm in his grip until Dean turns as well, hissing, his fingers straining as his wrist is bent and pressed up between his shoulder blades. The air around them buffets the sides of Cas’ head, and with dark pleasure he imagines Dean’s wings twisting and fluttering. The scent of mint and coconut is stronger now that Cas is pressed up against Dean’s back. His tank top sticks to his shoulder blades with thickly glistening sweat.

“You… you don’t.” Cas gasps, “You have no idea.” It takes every ounce of strength he has not to bite down on the straining muscles of Dean’s neck as the angel resists. “You have to stop, Dean.”

Every breath Cas draws pushes him higher; his head is spinning. His fangs fully extend and the glands under his tongue ache with need. He presses against Dean’s back and marches the struggling man across the small space.

Dean grunts as his chest hits the cold cement of the far wall and Cas crowds up behind him, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to knee. The air around them seems to shiver as Dean arches against Cas’s chest. In the corner of his vision, the atmosphere sparkles, taking shape into large heavily feathered wings. When Cas tries to look at them directly, though, they vanish. The illusion of those appendages brings a little of his sanity back.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Cas hisses, drawing in lungfuls of air saturated in the other man’s scent. His vision darkens as Dean struggles. He clearly hears the blood pumping through Dean’s body, singing to him like a siren,  thrumming steadily, echoing in Cas’s head like the bass of the club just beyond the stockroom door.

“Yes, I do! Fuck.” Dean groans as a flush rises up the back of his neck. His skin burns under Cas’s palms, and sweat trickles down from his hairline like he’s been running for hours in the summer sun. “I do, Cas. I know exactly what...”

Dean’s groaning is cut off as he rests his forehead on the wall. Dean is strong, especially in Cas’s weakened state, with him so far from his last feeding. He’s strong enough to throw Cas off; he’s powerful enough to end this, to stop what Cas is doing, to press steadily away from the cold wall and send Cas hurtling into the stock shelves behind them. But Dean doesn’t. Instead, he gasps, and sighs, and groans softly, angling his hips back and turning his head so that Cas can see the luminous blue glow that has bled into his pupils. He licks his full lips and lets his jaw fall slack, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth.

“I want it.” He breathes, and Cas can taste the sweetness of his breath, the shots he’s taken with the patrons all night. As he meets Cas’ gaze over his shoulder, there is a focus to his eyes that says he’s not even close to intoxicated.

“No, you don’t.” Cas grits out as the plush curve of Dean’s ass rocks back into the cradle of his hips. Cas’s next breath stutters in his chest at the feeling, and his words rush from his lips. “I won’t stop, Dean. I won’t stop until I’m full. Until I’m bloated on your blood and you’re a weak shell of the person you used to be.”

“Not me, Cas. That won’t happen to me.” Dean wiggles, his wrist slips easily from Cas’s grasp, and suddenly their roles are reversed. The cement wall bites into Cas’s back as he slams into it, pain blooming as his head bounces against the unforgiving surface. He lurches forward, but he’s tired, energy fading and Dean is fast, he’s not desperate, he’s not starving like Cas is, and before he realizes it his arms are shoved over his head, crushed against the wall under one of Dean’s hands. Cas snarls, his teeth snapping. His chest heaves and each breath tastes like Dean; sweat and summertime.

Dean looms over him, eyes glowing faintly in the dull light. “That’s not going to happen to me, Cas. You can’t drain me.”

“Get off me.”

“No! Listen to me.” Dean leans in his breath puffing hot over Cas’s lips. “I need this. I need it! I don’t know what happened in your past Cas, but it’s not going to happen to me. I’m not human; you can’t hurt me unless I let you and I won’t let you. Cas trust me, please, I need…. God, you smell so good. Never smelled anything like you.”

Cas wants to believe him. It’s been so long. So deliriously long. But none of this is making any sense. He’s heard of fetishists, craving strange encounters with supernatural creatures. Vampires bites are always up at the top of the list with Incubi and Succubi, due to the euphoria vampire venom causes. But why now, why him? Cas just doesn't understand. If Dean wants a bite so bad, he could easily volunteer at a blood bar.  

“Tell me why?” Cas spits out, pulling on his hands but unable to free them from Dean’s vice-like grip. “There’s no logical reason for you to want a vampire bite, you idiot! What’s wrong with you?”

Something in Dean’s expression breaks, it’s almost sad, and for a moment Cas’ heart goes out to him but then his eyes shadow and his jaw tenses and Cas can see the moment Dean makes his decision.

“No, no, _no_.”

“I’m sorry. It has to be you.” Dean rears back and, faster than Cas can imagine, he brings his head forward, smashing their faces together. Blood and white light explode from Dean's nose, and Cas recognizes that this is the exact moment when his higher, more cultured functions give way to the creature he truly is.

art by FoxyMoley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bum bum bummmm... good thing all the chapters posted at the same time huh?
> 
> isn't that some fan-fucking-tastic Vamp!Cas art? all that brooding intensity, the fangs, hip bones. mmhum, you should surely tell the artist by leaving a comment below or send her love on tumblr. (right here --> [@FoxyMoley](https://foxymoley.tumblr.com) ) Yeah, def tell her how yummy her Vamp Cas is, cause nothing say's _I love you like_ comments covered in drool, over some delicious fan art.


	6. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take and take and take from me because you'll never run me dry.

Dean’s blood splatters over Castiel’s face, the little drops hot like lava against his skin. The edges of his sight darken further even as his pupils expand. The world becomes crisp, sharp like his hunger. Colors bleed away until there is nothing left but shades of red and gray and black. He can see the heat rolling off of Dean’s body in waves, an aura inviting him to sin. His nostrils flare and his tongue flicks out to taste the air, and it tastes  _ good _ ; positively delicious. 

His vision narrows down to a pinpoint focus on the bulging veins running up the side of Dean’s neck, but the man shifts, dropping his chin and blocking Cas’s view. Because Dean is not only smart enough to know what he’s done to Cas, he’s also strong, agile, beautiful and deadly. Cas  _ craves _ him in a way he hasn’t felt for anyone else before. 

He doesn’t bother to resist as his body gears up, launching him into full hunting mode. A blood rage. Strength infuses his muscles as Cas finally gives into the arousal he’s been fighting all night. He’s fully prepared to burn through all of his remaining energy to capture this prey. Luckily for him, Dean is a willing participant. 

Cas leans back against the wall letting Dean take the bulk of his weight while he drags his boots up the cement behind him. Muscles coiling, he shoves off the wall, sending them both surging backward. 

Dean is apparently surprised by Cas’s sudden show of strength and doesn’t backtrack fast enough, losing his footing and sending them both crashing to the cold cement floor. Before the momentum leaves him, Cas tucks his shoulder and rolls, turning as he does and reaching out so that when his feet are finally back under him, he also has a firm grip on Dean’s short sandy brown hair. Using the forward motion Cas surges to his feet, pulling the angel along with him. Dean gives a rough, low shout as he’s hauled around and up to his knees by his hair.

His motions are graceful––there is a fluidity to his movement that has been missing for such a long time––as he steps around Dean’s shoulder and over his calves until Cas has taken up a position behind him. He bends at the waist and wraps his free arm tightly around Dean’s chest, pulling his head back until his neck is exposed.

Dean struggles feebly, and Cas loves every second of it. His toned, tattooed arms reach, flail, stretching back over his shoulders but never quite finding enough purchase on Cas’s sweat-slicked skin to dislodge the vampire’s hold.

“You smell divine,” Cas says as he runs his nose up the column of Dean’s neck. His voice is low and soft, taking on the hypnotic, melodic quality of his kind. “All night long,” he says slowly, deliberately, enjoying the way gooseflesh erupts over the other man's skin. “You’ve been taunting me, teasing me.”

Cas watches with delight as Dean’s chest heaves, sucking in sharp breaths. From this angle, he can see the obscene tent at the front of Dean’s black jeans and he needs to peel the tight fabric from his body.

“Mmmm, Dean.” Cas purrs directly into his ear. “I bet you taste good too, don’t you sweetheart?”

Dean shivers and swallows, his Adam's apple bobs violently from how far Cas has his head pulled back. His eyelids flutter and his jaw falls slack, pink tongue darting out to swipe along the meat of his lower lip. Cas catches every tiny nuance Dean gives him. Satisfaction curls low and sweet in his gut as the angel responds beautifully to his seduction.

Dean whines, his knees shifting on the cold cement of the stock room floor. “Shhhh.” Cas comes sliding the arm that's wrapped around Dean’s chest back, his fingers spread, slowly gliding down the center of Dean’s chest. He extends a razor-sharp fingernail and slices through the soft white cotton of Dean’s tank top. The material gives way like warm butter, exposing the tanned, freckled flesh beneath.

“Beautiful,” Cas whispers, before sucking a dark spot onto the soft skin just behind Dean’s ear. Dean’s gasp is accompanied by the desperate sound of fluttering as the angel strains towards him. Cas’s hips are battered by the invisible press of Dean’s wings as the man murmurs, pleads, back arching ever so slightly. “You want me?" Cas says. "You’ve got me. And I am going to take everything from you.  _ Everything _ . You’re  _ mine _ .”

Pulling back, Cas stands, keeping his hand tangled in Dean’s hair. He drags the angel over to one of the large wooden tables. Dean resists, and even though it’s half-hearted, it makes the whole process that much better. Cas hates when his prey is supplicant; he enjoys the fight, the struggle. 

Yanking on Dean’s hair, Cas drags the man to his feet before shoving him forward until he collides with the sturdy table. The  _ umph _ Cas hears is intensely satisfying. He stalks towards him as Dean props himself up and turns around. He’s leaning back, arms splayed behind him, feet spread, his prominent erection tenting his jeans. Dean, the little tease, even cocks his hips forward, his eyebrows raised in challenge. 

Cas is on him in a second. Their lips collide, sliding painfully against one another. Dean moans, opening his mouth, and Cas licks inside. Euphoria cascades down his spine as Dean closes his lips around Cas’s tongue and sucks. The glands gush and Dean drinks down his toxin. Relief, like he hasn’t known in ages fills Cas, gives him focus and clarity. He controls the kiss, nipping at Dean’s lips with sharp teeth as he slips the shreds of his tank top from his shoulder.

“Turn around.” Cas orders, growling. “Over the table.”

Dean scrambles to comply as Cas slowly peels his own tank top off. His hands freeze on the button of his jeans as Dean rapidly drops his pants, canting his hips back and gripping the edge of the table. His eagerness for what they are about to do is betrayed by the palpable stiffness in the way he holds his body for Cas.

Shock rocks Cas to his core as lust, hot and fierce, sparks low into his gut. He hasn’t felt desire like this in ages. He  _ wants _ , and it’s more than just the taste of blood on his tongue. It’s refreshing, dizzying, almost as good as the sight of Dean’s perfect backside. For the first time in a long time, Cas feels genuine desire. 

Dean’s ass is round and smooth, just begging for someone’s hands on him, and his cock is hard and heavy between his legs, twitching and leaking in the open air under the table. His skin is warm under Cas’s fingers as they slide over the plush curve and dip into the crease. Dean’s legs tremble, and Cas cannot begin to wrap his head around why the other man is so desperate. Not that it matters at this point, anymore.

Pressing a palm to the small of Dean’s back to hold him still, Cas flicks the button on his jeans and they slip down his hips to pool at the top of his boots. His cock aches and he grips it greedily, sliding his hand along the length to ease some of the tension filling his gut. It pulses red and angry in his hand, and for one delirious moment, Cas is giddy at the sight of it. Long ago he thought he’d grown immune to the trappings of lust. Right now, however, his brain is consumed with the need to _ fuck, feed, fuck, feed. _

Logically Cas knows saliva isn’t the best way to ease himself into Dean’s body, even if his is thicker and contains a numbing agent. A cursory glance around the stock room reveals nothing better, and he’s about to spit into his palm when Dean fidgets, whining in his impatience, the air shifting and the scent of coconut and mint assaulting him. 

“Of course.” Castiel grounds out, everything snapping into place with sudden clarity. He folds himself over Dean’s back, slotting his hard cock into the seam of the angel's ass and grabbing the younger man by the hair, pulling his head back. Dean’s eyes flutter open, his cheeks beautifully flushed, and he blinks, trying to focus his eyes on Cas's face. He is a sinful sight, and the visage goes directly to Cas’s dick. He twists Dean’s hair until the man meets his eye. 

“Show them to me,” he growls, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he roughly shakes his head. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Dean. Just show them to me.”

Dean grunts low in his throat and bites his lip, refusing to comply. Cas peels himself off Dean’s back until only their hips are pressed together, the sight of his hard, leaking cock pillowed by Dean's ass is almost too much. He wants to be inside Dean's heat, he needs it, but not like this. He's going to do it right; he's going to make it so good, brand Dean from the inside out, ruin him as he is ruining Castiel.

"I'm going to make this good for you, Dean. So good, because you're mine now.  _ Mine _ ." Cas promises as he sucks his middle finger deep into his mouth, lathering the digit. “I'll give you one more chance. Show me your wings."

"N-no." Dean huffs his jaw tensing.

"This would be so much better if you just showed them to me. I can help. I know what’s going on now Dean.” He leans back over Dean’s prone form to purr his request directly into the man’s ear. “This can be good for both of us,” he parrots back Dean’s earlier statement.

Dean quivers, his whole body trembling, and Cas takes that moment to press his finger into the tight hot heat of Dean’s body. Dean arches, eyes going wide, his hands convulse and the table splinters under his palms, the wood complaining loudly. The air behind his back and on either side of his shoulders shimmers, but the wings still don’t appear. 

“Damn it, Dean,” Cas growls even as his own dick hardens further. The sight of Dean reacting to the pleasure and pain Castiel causes him is rapturous. Cas finds that arousal is becoming distracting; his head feels light and his body weak between his need to feed and his libido. He curls his finger searching, seeking. Dean cries out his voice loud and collapses against the table, his hips lifting, his arms trembling against the splintered wood. Cas strokes, again and again, being able to find that sweet spot inside of Dean fills his chest with an enormous level of pride. 

Dean’s shoulders flex and roll as he moans and trembles under Cas’s deft hands. “I can make this so much better if you’d just do what I ask.” He promises, nipping along the muscle of Dean’s shoulder.

"Please, please," Dean begs.

"Now, Dean," Cas demands as Dean's muscles clamp and flutter pleasingly on his embedded fingers, driving his fueling desire to bury his throbbing cock inside until Dean screams.

The air shimmers and there is a sudden and intense pressure. Cas' eardrums ache like they are going to burst and he rears back, screwing his eyes shut. His fingers go still inside Dean's body and the angel cries out in protest. Dean's hips lift feebly, seeking out Castiel's touch. There is a loud crack, and the air pressure returns to normal. Cas draws a harsh breath and opens his eyes, coconut and mint flavoring the air so thickly he can taste each individual flavor on his tongue. 

Massive is not a word that could adequately describe what is now laid bare before Cas’ gaze. Dean's wings are stretched out, taking up more space than Cas could ever have imagined. Dean sags under their weight, and Cas can see that the glands nestled under the soft downy feathers by the angel's shoulder blades are swollen and leaking profusely down his back. That wasn’t sweat coating Dean’s tank top all night. No, it was oil.

“You’re in heat,” Cas confirms, as he pulls his fingers free of Dean’s body. Dean shivers, writhing on the table, and Cas smiles in victory. As he slides his hands up the straining muscles of Dean’s back, the wings shift and spread, laying flat and limp from their joints. Cas gets the feeling that Dean already knows what he’s going for. “You need this, don’t you?” Cas purrs, rutting his erection up against Dean’s ass.

“Yes, you...  _ fuck _ ... please.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cas says, as his hands wrap around the glands and he rolls them, expressing the oil and coating his fingers liberally. “We will help each other.” 

The words are devoured by the deep rumble of Dean’s moan. His wings tremble audibly, feathers slipping and sliding against one another as Cas massages the taught glands. The oil is thick and fragrant and full of pheromones that heighten Cas’s arousal. He spits into his slick palm, adding his venom to the mix before dropping back and stroking over his aching cock, coating himself in the viscous, musky oil. 

Cas lines himself up, gently pressing the tip of his cock against Dean's entrance as he drapes himself over the angel's back, careful to avoid his shifting wings. 

“All at once, now.” Cas hums as he tilts Dean’s head back to expose the throbbing pulse of his neck. “All at once.” 

Dean’s eyes flutter closed as Cas grips his hip with one hand and holds his head steady with the other. Parting his lips, the warm pulse of Dean’s flesh filling his mouth, Cas's eyes drift closed. The moment before a bite everything slows down, and Cas' mind is blissfully blank as his body relaxes. Dean takes his weight with ease. Between one of Dean's heartbeats and the next Cas surges. His teeth sink into the flesh of Dean’s neck, and his hips snap forward, plowing his hard aching length into the ready waiting heat below him.

Dean cries out, his wings arching, but Cas warned him, warned him he wouldn’t be able to stop, not once he's started. As the blood fills his mouth he fleetingly realizes he’s completely lost control, his hips heave, over and over again, fucking Dean's ass with reckless abandon. 

Pleasure, one he’s never known in all his life, fills him from the tips of his fingers to his toes curling in his boots. The flavor of Dean’s blood rushes over his tongue, and he drowns in its satisfying spice. 

It is all too much, and yet not enough. The feeling of Dean's body convulsing around his cock, the way he gasps and groans and tilts his head so Cas' mouth can form a more perfect seal over his neck. It’s everything he imagined it would be and so much more. It floods him, strengthens him. He feels the fatigue and the constant pounding of his headache vanish. Dean is healing him from the inside out. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been feeding, only that his strength is back and his vision has returned to normal. Below him Dean is crying out, desperately moaning deep and low in his chest, canting his hips back to meet each and every one of Cas’s violent thrusts. And he’s begging. The rolling thunder of his voice seeps into Cas’s brain, and he’s compelled to give Dean everything he wants. 

“Yes! Please, harder, fuck! More Cas, so good, s'good, s'big, so big." Dean slurs "You’re so big. Fills me... so good. ” he gasps, rambles. “More, smell so good, please, more.”

The blood flows freely from the wound in Dean’s neck as Cas pulls away, the angel not even bothering to heal himself. A crimson offering for Cas to continue to feed, to drink until he never feels hungry or weak again, but he doesn’t need it. He’s shocked to realize he’s full, strong, energized again. 

Sluggishly, he licks at the marks, letting the enzymes in his tongue perform the healing Dean is too distracted to do for himself. Purring low and deep in his chest, Cas turns all of his focus to properly fucking Dean. His hips snap forward, and for the first time, he notices how obscenely loud the sound of their passion is. How Dean shouts his pleasure and challenges Cas to fuck him harder, faster. How he babbles random praise as he reaches back and slaps a hand against Cas' flexing hip.

“So good, Dean. So tight and hot.” Cas moans, stroking down Dean’s ribs, fascinated by the muscles twitching and rolling under his freckled flesh before dropping to join his other hand on Dean’s hip. Cas flexes his grip, squeezing tightly and yanks, dragging Dean back, forcing his cock in as he rotates his hips and grinds down. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Give me everything, Dean.” Cas pants. 

“Yes, you fucking better.” Dean gasps, biting into the meat of his lower lip as he looks over the arch of his glossy wing. His eyes are glowing blue, and his cheeks are flushed dark with arousal. He moans, wings shifting, flooding the scent of his oil into the air. Cas can’t hold on, his lust taking over as he reaches around and grips Dean’s neglected cock, drops his chest down against Dean’s back as he bites his shoulder. He bites, again and again, injecting his venom into the man below him, sending Dean higher and higher on the euphoria his bite creates. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop.

“More!” Dean grunts, “Again!” his wings flutter, and Cas falls deeper under the spell of his pheromones.

He complies, he can’t fight the urge as he bites the knob at the back of Dean’s neck, licking the wound before sucking rough bruises along his shoulders. Dean shifts his wings to give Cas access more to his flesh as if he wants these marks as much as Cas wants to mark him. To show the world exactly who he belongs to. 

Cas is close, he realizes, as the searing burn of his orgasm settles like hot tar along the base of his spine. He’s so wonderfully close. It’s been so long since he’s fucked anyone, let alone like this, violent and raw. He doesn't have to hold back, and Dean is giving as good as he’s getting. He feels alive, so alive, more alive then he’s felt in recent memory. 

Dean’s hips buck and Cas tightens his grip, stroking Dean’s cock in time with the thrusting of his hips. “Let me hear you.” Cas pants against Dean’s neck, “Let me hear you come.”

“So close, c–close.” Dean’s legs tremble, and the lightbulb overhead burns bright buzzing loudly over their combined panting. Cas slams into the hilt, his muscles burning with the need to imprint himself on Dean from the inside out.

Watching Dean orgasm is a sight Cas will savor for all of time. His whole body convulses, his wings tense and slowly lift off the table, fanning out from his back, feathers trembling as his body arches. His eyes flash bright, blue light escaping their green depths, his ass constricts around Cas’s cock like he’s milking his orgasm right to the surface. It sparks under his skin like a live wire, sending currents of pleasure through his body. Dean’s cock jumps between Cas' fingers as he spills hot and wet over Cas' palm to splatters the cement below.

The light overhead explodes, and the entire room plummets into darkness. Cas never stills, even as the sound from the club beyond the stock room door abruptly cuts out. Absently, Castiel notes that the crowd cries out in dismay as the music dies. In the seconds it takes the backup power to flick on, for the music and the emergency lights in the stockroom dully to glow back to life, Cas knows he's done for. 

He is relentless as he chases his own orgasm, the need to fill Dean with his seed all-consuming. He releases Dean’s leaking dick and pulls himself upright, hands gripping the angel's hips. He needs to touch, to feel the sweat-slicked skin under his palms, to bruise and mark the pliant moaning man beneath him. And Dean is so gorgeous like this, skin glowing, breath panting, his wings give one last shudder before they vanish from sight taking the overwhelming scent of mint and watermelon and coconut with them. 

“Don't. Heal. Them.” Cas grunts on each thrust as the marks he sucked along Dean’s shoulders begin to fade. “Don’t you dare. You’re mine, show them you’re mine.” Cas constricts his hold on Dean’s hips, ensuring the bruises he leaves will be dark even against Dean’s tanned flesh, squeezing until the man under him whines out in discomfort.

“Possessive.” Dean huffs, but there's a wantonness to his tone that confirms he likes it more than he’s letting on. 

“You have… no idea.” Cas growls, slamming home over and over again, his cock aches and pulses. His skin tingles and he gasps, hips stuttering. He drops his torso to cover Dean’s back. His teeth sink into Dean’s neck, and the man whines shifting his head to give Cas more access. His body clamps down, and as Cas pulls Dean’s blood into his mouth once again, and with that, he plummets violently over the edge, unloading into Dean. His orgasm rocks him to his core, so intense that he loses himself, hips rolling on their own, body pressing down against Dean, pinning him as he takes his pleasure. 

When he comes back to himself, his cock is softening and slowly slipping, sloppy with his release, from Dean’s flushed body. His fingers are buried in Dean’s sweat-dampened hair, stroking through the strands, and with soft purrs, he’s lazily licking at the fresh bite mark on Dean’s neck.

“Do you always get so clingy after you orgasm?” Dean asks, breathless.

Cas blinks mid-lick, his tongue poking out passed his lips. “Only the really excellent ones,” he confesses with a shy smile. 

A heavy pounding at the stockroom door has them both peering over their shoulders.

“Fuck.” Cas curses lifting himself off the angel’s back and scrambling to pull his pants up. Ordinarily, he'd prefer to spend a great deal more time with Dean's warm satiated body in his arms, but it's obvious their rendezvous has come to an end. Gingerly Cas tucks himself into his jeans and extends a hand to help the slightly wincing angel back to his feet. 

“Fuck.” Cas groans low in his throat as he bends to pull Dean’s jeans back up and comes face to face with the crips clear imprint of his fingers bruised along the man's hip bones. 

“Like that?” Dean asks cocking his hip out.

“Mmm, quite a lot,” Castiel responds, dropping his mouth to the bruise and sucking lightly on the flesh before pulling Dean’s jeans the rest of the way up.

They both take a moment to catch their breath and clean up. Castiel rummages around in the boxes and bins scattered against the walls to find Dean a new tank top. As he pulls it on, Cas can’t help the worry already picking at the back of his mind, pushing the warmth of his orgasm away.

“You’re ok? No headache, ears buzzing, lightheaded?” He watches as Dean closes the gap between them, his hands are steady, there’s no tremble to his finger as he cups Cas’s face.

“I told you man, angel biology.” He leans in and places a lingering kiss on Cas’s lips. “Your venom is nice, like a shot of fine whiskey, but I’m not going to get addicted to it. I can't. My healing factor burns it off before I can even enjoy it.”

“Is that why you kept asking me to bite you?”

“Hell yeah.” Dean breaths, “feels good, but it doesn't last long enough for me to get anything out of it.” 

“ _ ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! _ ” Gabe’s voice shrieks from the other side of the door.

Dean rolls his eyes, "Alright!" he calls as they step apart. Cas pauses for the briefest moment before he pulls the stock room door open, horrified to find that a considerable crowd is awaiting them. 

“Midnight snack?” Gabe asks loudly, and a few of the wait staff snicker. The Archangel doesn’t seem able to keep the anger in his voice, as behind him, Meg gives a long low whistle. She starts a slow clap that quickly escalates to all the gathered staff. Laughter and jeers, a few whoops and a ‘me next’ make Cas shake his head. Dean comes up behind him, and instinctively he knows the angel is smiling. 

“Maybe?” Cas says, shrugging unable to pull his eyes from Dean as the angel strides past them and out into the crowd. He fist bumps Meg, who rolls her eyes and flicks him in the bite mark on his neck.

“Earth to Castiel?!” Gabe says, snapping his fingers in Cas’s face. “Well, at least you’re back to your old self.” The Archangel crosses his arms. “You look good, healthy and you’re paying to replace all the bulbs behind the bar and in the kitchen.”

“Aww, that’s not fair,” Dean says with a smirk as he slides up behind Gabe. His eyes are bright, no sign of fatigue or blood sickness, no bruises marring the skin under his eyes. Castiel feels a lightness in his chest that he thought he lost. “You know that was my fault, and honestly,” Dean goes on, handing a lollipop to Gabe. “You knew I was going into heat when you asked me here, I feel like…" Dean gestures with his hand, his brows arching "this was all part of some big, elaborate plan…”

Gabe snatches the lollipop and pulls off the wrapper. He looks suspiciously like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Well… I guess we will never know… now will we,” he rocks on the balls of his feet, slipping the lolly between his lips. “Those lights needed to be replaced anyway….” He throws flippantly over his shoulder as he walks off, waving his hands animatedly to disperse the gathered people.

Dean steps into Cas’s space, his fingers are warm as they slide down Cas’s forearm to tangle their fingers together. 

“Same time next week?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Maybe training the new guy isn’t going to be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go. Thank you so much for reading and for _(hopefully)_ commenting. I hope you like my entry for the 2018 DeanCas FlipFest. Cause like remember that one time Dean was a vampire...? And like all the times Cas was an angel...? yeah so anyway big thanks to everyone who encouraged, offered advice and helped me push this bad boy through to the end. 
> 
> (Specially DestiMushi who came in at the beginning and used a katana on my first draft and told me to start over. Which I did and I couldn't be more thankful for that advice. :caskiss:)
> 
> Anyway, kudos and Comments activate my praise kink. Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://hartlessfiction.tumblr.com/) I love to chat!


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